Old General Wallace was once known to have taken off his hat as he came face to face with G. W.'s Colonel at the tent door, after one of those mysterious twilight talks. When the older man realized what he had done he jammed his hat down over his eyes, and, with an impatient laugh, said, "What in thunder is the matter with you, Austin? You look like a Methodist camp-meeting!"

G. W.'s Colonel saluted and pa.s.sed on.

One night when he went into the tent after G. W., he found the boy divested of his splendid regimentals, kneeling in a very scant and child-like costume before the table--which, by the way, was composed of two soap-boxes covered with a flag--and scanning the faces of "the Boy and his Mother." A strange yearning in G. W.'s eyes caused the officer to speak very gently.

"What is it, old fellow? Surely you are not envying the Boy up North?

You, a full-fledged soldier of Uncle Sam!"

Envy! why G. W.'s heart just then was filled with pity for that boy nearly as old as he, who was obliged to wear humiliating garments.

Actually there was lace on his collar. And the boy wore curls! not long ones, but curls nevertheless. G. W. had by this time acquired tact sufficient to forbid mention of these pitiful details, but he said slowly, "I'se right sorry fur de Boy, Colonel, kase he's 'bliged to stay away frum being wid you!"

G. W. was too sincere to be laughed at, and the Boy's father replied gently:

"Well, you see, comrade, it is this way: the Boy is serving his country as well as you. He'd like to be here first-rate,--a drum-call sets him prancing like a war horse,--but there's the Mother, you know. It would never do to leave her quite alone--he's taking my place by her side until the country needs me no longer and I may go home. There are a good many ways of serving, old man.

"G. W., once I was walking through a gallery of an ancient castle, and I noticed among the armor and weapons which lined the walls a little gauntlet and sword. So very small were they that I questioned the guide, and he told me this story:

'In the dark days of long ago, when a man's castle had to be defended from his foes, and every one was on guard against an attack, there was a knight who had four sons and one fair daughter.

Three of the sons were great stalwart fellows, but the fourth was a crippled lad who lay upon his bed in the turret chamber week after week, dreaming his dreams and looking out across the wide parks over which he was never to ride to wage war against a cruel foe.

The pretty sister sat much with him and wove wondrous stories from her busy brain to help while away the weary hours; and she got the father to have the slender gauntlet and sword made, so that the patient soldier upon the bed might the better believe himself like the strong, brave heroes of her tales.

'Now it came to pa.s.s that a very wicked lord of an adjoining country wished to marry the pretty sister, and take her to his gloomy castle. To that the father and brothers said, "No!" They vowed that they would fight to the end rather than that the wicked lord should have his way. And soon they saw that they must indeed fight if they would keep her, for rumor reached them that the lord had raised a mighty company and was nearing their castle. Then every man prepared himself for battle, and in the turret room the small warrior lay upon his bed with the gauntlet upon his hand, and the keen sword ready in case the foe should enter. Day by day the fair sister, white and full of fear, knelt beside him, and tried to be brave for his dear sake.

'At length the day of conflict came. The two in the high room saw the banners of the wicked lord advancing, and the little brother said valiantly, "I will defend you!"

'The struggle came on. Long and n.o.bly did the knight and his men strive to keep back the terrible lord, and many fell in court-yard and hall. But at last the wicked lord and his followers triumphed, and with shouts of victory strode to the turret-room.

'There knelt the maid, her golden head bowed beside her brother.

His left hand pressed her fair curls, but his right hand was ready for its task. The lord bent to grasp the prize for which he had fought, little heeding the crippled boy; but as his fingers were about to close upon the girl's arm the keen slender sword was raised in a hand made strong for the deed, and a desperate blow fell upon the wrist of the lord, and his hand was nearly severed from the arm. An awed silence followed the doughty deed. Then out spoke the lord: "Let no man touch the pair. Of all warriors this cripple is the greatest, because in his weakness he has dared all things for love!"'

"So you see, G. W., the poor young stay-at-home was a soldier, too!"

said the Colonel. "I have always loved to remember the story. And now I often think of the Boy up North defending his mother from loneliness and foreboding--he is doing his share, G. W."

G. W.'s soft, big, brown eyes were fixed upon his Colonel's face. The great hero-tales of legend and history were new to his empty childhood, and this one thrilled him to his heart's core.

"Dat's a mighty fine story!" he mused. "When you was telling me dat story, Colonel, it done seem as if nothing was mean in all de world; it seems like every one was brave!"

"Never reckon out any honest service, old man," the Colonel went on; "very little things count in this world, and oftentimes the weakest do the greatest deeds. That little hero of long ago stretches forth a hand to every child who tries to do his part!"

A gleam of admiration flashed into G. W.'s eyes. "Well, I 'low dat de Boy up North is a bigger soldier dan I 'magined. I knowed from de fust I done got to take care ob _you_, Colonel, but now I jis' feel like I 'd be glad to do something fur de Boy hisself!"

Colonel Austin seemed to understand. "Well," said he, "you and he are both taking care of me. You are helping him and he is helping you, and maybe some day you may tell each other all about it."

There was surely one thing the Colonel's two "boys" had in common: they both had the same devouring pa.s.sion for hero-stories.

During almost every spring evening of that year, by a bedside in a cool Northern home, a pretty young mother had sat and told to an eager little lad thrilling tales of bravery and courage. Always she began with the one the Colonel had told to G. W.--the story of the crippled boy in the old castle turret. There was something in that legend that stirred Jack Austin in a wonderful manner.

It had been hard for Jack to be separated from his father from the first; but now, whenever he heard from his father's letters about G. W., and realized that among war's perils there could be a place for a small boy, his heart simply ached with longing. G. W., a boy little older than himself, was there beside Daddy! But at this point Jack always recalled the story of the gauntlet and the small sword, and stifled back the tears and looked lovingly at his pretty mother. No matter how he envied G. W., he would stay, patient, in his "turret chamber." His place was beside his mother until Daddy came marching home. How many times his father had sent him that message! Jack dreamed almost every night of his father coming home, keeping step to the cheerful drum; so he had marched away, and so he would return, with G. W. at his side!

Near his bed, at night, always lay Jack's own splendid suit of make-believe soldier clothes. It was hard sometimes for him to think that they were make-believe clothes, while the suit of blue his mother had sent to G. W. were real, true ones, and worn by the dusky little soldier who lived in his dear father's tent. There often seemed to him an unendurable difference between G. W. and himself.

Poor little Jack! he was braver than he realized when he turned away from this feeling and smiled up into his mother's face.

But Jack's mother knew all about this feeling.

"And so you see, dear," the stories for Jack always ended, "that though you are but mother's obedient little boy now, your chance in the great world's work will come!"

And in the tent, beneath the glorious sunsets of Tampa, at about the same time "Daddy" would be sitting and smoking beside a small mattress bed, urging the same line of conduct upon another boy "hero" with a heart under the brown skin as pure and innocent as the one throbbing beneath the snowy night-gown so far away.

"Your chance will come, G. W.!"

And both boys generally fell asleep with the resolve that they would do the things and bear the things of the present, and "wait" without a murmur, because heroes had done the same since the world began.

IV.

WAITING IN THE TURRET CHAMBER.

It was never clear to G. W. why the "boys" were always anxious to be "going." For him the lazy, fun-loving life was never tedious or unpleasant. From all that he could gather by endless questioning, war was not half so agreeable, although he granted it must certainly be more exciting.

"When will the order come for us to move?" That was the daily question in camp.

At last it came! They were to sail at once. Of course the President of the United States, whose ill.u.s.trious name G. W. bore himself, meant all the thousands who were encamped in Tampa; but to G. W. the order meant that _he_ and "de Colonel" were to "pull up stakes" and sail away to that strange, mysterious Cuba, and face war!

The little dusky fellow in blue suddenly felt that his hands were pretty full.

He it was who packed all the Colonel's belongings, giving special care to the photograph. He polished up the guns and swords, and even his own b.u.t.tons. He meant at least to command the respect of the foe. He often grew hot and tired, during those days, but never made a complaint. And when the hurried camp preparations were completed, it was G. W. and "de Colonel" who marched down the long pier to the waiting transports. To G.

W.'s mind, it was for them the cheers rang out, and for them did the band play the inspiring music that set his feet dancing. Oh, it was the proudest moment of G. W.'s life so far. His b.u.t.tons almost burst over his swelling chest. He was marching straight into the glorious future.

He was going to be a hero without further delay. He saw "visions," like his mammy. Somewhere, off in the misty distance, his "chance" was waiting for him; he felt as certain of it as he was that under his beloved uniform he was surely melting.

The days in the crowded transport put little G. W.'s endurance to the test. But during the wretched hours one glance at the Colonel's face gave him courage to suffer and be--still!

His Colonel saw it all.

"Bear up, old chap! Heroes grin--and conquer things," said the officer, while his heart ached for the silent child; and in the end, through sea-sickness and a longing for old easy days, G. W. did grin and "conquer things."

Then they came to Cuba! Under the dark palms and cacti, once more the white tents were pitched; and facing the fact of approaching battles, the men made ready, but still lightened the heavy hours by song and joke, and boisterously welcomed the old comradeship of G. W.

G. W. revived when once his feet touched solid land. "I doan't like de water," he explained; "it's shaky an' onsartain an'--an'--wet! Dere's too much ob it too, an' when it gets wobbly, whar are yo?"

So the boy cheerfully took up again his dancing and singing. War grew again to seem to him a matter of some other day. The regiment seemed merely to have shifted its pleasure-ground. To be sure, there were fewer hours alone with the Colonel, for he was very busy, but G. W. followed him about at a distance whenever and wherever he could. If love could shield the young officer from harm, surely never was he safer.

But presently G. W. began to form new and more personal ideas of war; his imagination, fed by the stories he had heard, sprang to life.

Perhaps war wasn't anything they would know about beforehand. That might be the reason for the look of anxiety he had noticed upon the face of his Colonel. Possibly war was like a great cloud hurled along by the hurricane--G. W. knew how _that_ looked. They might all be sitting by the camp-fire some night, when suddenly war would descend upon them and find them unprepared. With that thought G. W.'s face took on an expression of anxiety. He clung closer to his Colonel; he did not intend that war should find his Colonel unattended by body-guard.